Daisies & Devin

by Kelsey Kingsley

  “That’s a long list, baby.”

  “I just don’t understand how they can just walk through without stopping to look at all of this,” I said, tipping my head back to admire a repurposed bicycle wheel.

  He shrugged, allowing his gaze to follow mine. “People appreciate stuff differently.”

  “How wise of you,” I chided with a shake of my head, and I grabbed his hand, turning to walk further down the path, beautifully littered with glass and stone.

  “It’s like the way people listen to songs differently, right?”

  I turned up to look at him questioningly, and he shrugged again.

  “Well, okay, so you and I listen to songs. We open our hearts to the lyrics, we analyze them and find their hidden meanings. Hell, we even create our own meanings. It’s how we appreciate them. But then, you get some other people who don’t pay much attention to the lyrics at all. They listen to a song and enjoy it, simply because the music evokes an emotion, or hell, maybe it just makes them want to get up and dance. Could be a song about death and rotting corpses, but they don’t give a shit what the lyrics are saying, as long as it makes them want to move.”

  He took in the sight of an archway decorated with bottles, a tire and other recycled gems. “All art works like that. We look at that and think, ‘Wow, it’s incredible that someone could visualize something beautiful in a shitty old tire.’ Other people though … they just walk through here as a way to make their Saturday a little more pleasant, because it’s a more colorful view than walking over a grimy street. And they’re not wrong.”

  My heart pounded and skipped a couple beats in between, listening to him talk and stare at the archway. I imagined he was writing a song somewhere in that mind of his, lacing together words about seeing the beauty in everything.

  Richard met up with us and wrapped his arm around Devin’s shoulders. “Incredible, huh?” he said with an enthusiastic smile. “I love this place.”

  “You’ve been here before?” I asked him.

  He smiled and nodded in my direction. “A few times, yeah. I was on tour with a band a while back and they played a few shows at The Filmore. I spent a little time here each day. I’d sit, eat my lunch, have a cup of coffee …” An idea struck him, and he shook his head, disappointedly. “You know, that’s what we should have done today. We could’ve grabbed something to eat.”

  The remark struck a brittle chord in my heart. Memories of my father, from when I was a little girl, before the addiction had consumed him and took him away. Things we would do together, things we did as a family. Beach walks and picking daisies.

  Then, all those years when he was too fucked up, too sick to be the attentive father. The robbery. All of those empty years without him in my life.

  Richard wasn’t my father. He could never prove to be a replacement for a man I still remembered so well, so fondly—almost too fondly, considering—but I smiled, because he was attempting to build a relationship with me. A relationship I had been without and missed so horribly.

  I nodded, urging my throat to open and let the words pass. “That would’ve been nice,” I croaked, smiling at him.

  Devin’s hand squeezed around mine. His lips twitched, not wanting to smile and make the moment more monumental than it needed to be. But I caught the beginnings of his grin, and I couldn’t fight it as I smiled, despite the tears in my eyes.

  “Some other time,” Richard said, reaching out to touch my elbow. “Maybe your mom would like to come with us. We could, uh, make a double date of it.”

  Or a family outing, I thought as I squeezed Devin’s hand, and held on tight.

  ♪

  The backstage area of the venue was small and lacking in glamour, but the crowd was bigger than they’d played before. Richard had estimated about a thousand people would be occupying the place and my own stomach rolled with nervous jitters. I could only begin to imagine what Devin was thinking, putting on the new leather jacket the record label had given him.

  “How do I look?” He spun around, shooting me his best Bond finger-guns.

  I laughed. “Like James Dean, only hotter.” Then, I chewed on my lower lip before reluctantly saying, “But, what about Billy’s jacket?”

  “I’m just giving this one a try, baby.” He chuckled. “And if you think this is hot, then just wait until they cut my hair.”

  “What? They’re cutting your hair?” I reached up to run my fingers through the soft, deep brown waves that curled at the tops of his ears and at the nape of his neck.

  “Yeah, the stylist said it’s too, um, 90’s alternative.”

  “But that’s your style …” I couldn’t believe how distraught I was getting over hair as I resisted the urge to pout. It was just hair, but Christ, I was surprising even myself with the restricting of my throat.

  “Richard agreed with her, though. They think if I were more of a, uh … Eddie Vedder or Kurt Cobain type of performer, it could work. But, she said as long as I was going with the John Mayer, Ed Sheeran flavor—whatever the fuck that means—I shouldn’t keep the hair.”

  I sighed, turning my head away to stare at … something, anything. The water bottle on the table looked like a good focal point. So, I studied it while I worked my bottom lip between my teeth again, clutching my hands to my sides.

  “Nobody cares what Ed Sheeran’s hair looks like,” I found myself saying. Whining a little more than I intended.

  “It’s just hair, KJ,” he reminded me with a gentle chuckle. “I mean, if I hate it, I can let it grow.”

  “Yeah, I guess that’s true.” But still, I sighed and shook my head.

  Because it was more than that. It was more than hair. It was his well-fitting clothes and new jacket. Everything fit impeccably and he looked amazing, but they weren’t choices he had made for himself. It was starting to feel as though he were playing some role in a show they were putting on, and I wasn’t sure this was what he had in mind when he wanted to be a known musician.

  “Hey,” he said, stepping toward me and wrapping his arms around my shoulders. “This is the first date of my tour, baby. I don’t want you to be sad over my hair. I want you to smile,” and he leaned down to kiss my neck. “I want you to be happy,” and he kissed a little more aggressively; opening his mouth, swirling his tongue over my skin. My head tipped to the side with my moan. “And I want you to be ready to rock my world later, after I rock yours.”

  “Mine, and a thousand other girls,” I teased, my upset fading with the scraping of his prickly smile against my neck.

  “Only one girl matters to me,” he said against my ear, and my hand pushed into his hair. Teasing the strands, knowing how badly I was going to miss it.

  Knock-knock. “Yo lovebirds, I’m coming in,” Robbie announced, throwing the door to the dressing room open. “Ah, too bad, Princess. I was hoping to get a glimpse of that ass.”

  Devin’s head shot up, his dark eyes flickering with murderous intent, and he slowly turned to face Robbie at the door. “Robbie, if you don’t get the fuck out of here, I’ll—”

  Robbie cackled, stepping into the room, and I was immediately hit with the overpowering stench of stale cigarettes. “Oh, shit, man! You should’ve seen your face! God, you two need to stop taking me so goddamn seriously. I mean, shit, you really think I want to see you banging your woman?”

  Devin’s features relaxed into an amused smirk. “I wouldn’t put it past you.”

  Shrugging his admittance, Robbie laughed. “Yeah, you’re probably right, but that’s meant to be a compliment,” he insisted, pointing a long finger at Devin and then at me. “You’re a beautiful couple, and that hair, Princess …” He let out a long whistle. “You’re a motherfuckin’ firecracker. I can only imagine what—”

  “Robbie,” Devin growled his name like a warning.

  He held up his hands in surrender, waving them frantically. “I’m waving my white flag here, man. I’m done being a shithead, all right? Richie Rich slapped my wrist, and I’m ready to b
ehave like a good little boy. I want to be friends.”

  There was something in his mannerisms. His erratic movements. The near-crazed look on his face. The sweat beading on his forehead.

  His eyes shot to look at me, and I noticed his dilated pupils as he grinned in a way that edged on maniacal. “Come on, Firecracker,” he said, stepping toward me. “Truce?”

  Instinct told me to step back, but I responded, “Yeah, sure.”

  Robbie clapped his hands above his head. “Hell yeah. That’s what I like to hear,” and he turned to Devin. “What about you, big guy? You want to be my buddy?”

  Devin’s eyes slid over to glance at me as he replied, “Yeah, Robbie. Sure.”

  The slip of a man held a hand up and Devin half-heartedly high-fived him. “This is awesome, man. Fucking awesome. God, I knew we could be friends. Party in my room after the show? What do you kids say?”

  I put on my best smile. “We actually have plans for later. We were actually discussing them just before you walked in.”

  Nodding enthusiastically, Robbie shrugged. “Hey, hey, that’s cool. You lovebirds want to be together after the first official gig on the tour, I get it. Maybe I’ll grab myself a hot-hot-hot piece of ass from the crowd.”

  Richard poked his head in. “Hey guys, five minutes to showtime. Be ready. Oh, and by the way, Dev, I got off the phone with the hairdresser in Jersey. She’s going to take you as soon as we arrive tomorrow, okay?”

  “Great,” Devin said, putting on an artificial smile. “I’ll be out in a couple minutes.”

  Richard nodded with a grin and he was gone, leaving us with the Cheshire Cat once again.

  “Must be nice having the head honcho for a daddy, huh, Firecracker.”

  I wanted to cringe at the nickname. I wanted to dye my hair something plain and mundane. I wanted to take whatever he was using and flush it all down the toilet. To save him before it was too late.

  I didn’t respond to his comment, and I smiled at Dev. “You better get going. I’ll go find a place in the front.”

  He nodded, bending over to kiss me. “I love you, Kylie,” he said quietly against my lips.

  Robbie watched, and despite his declaration of friendship, I could’ve sworn I saw his lip begin to curl, snarling in my direction.

  “I love you too.”

  As the two of them walked out of the room, Robbie clapped a hand against Devin’s back in the most familiar way, and I cringed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Devin

  They were screaming my name.

  My name. Mine.

  I peeked out through the jungle of amps and wires to catch a glimpse of the crowd. Richard had been right; there were a lot of them. That debut show a couple of weeks ago had been a few hundred, tops. While it was overwhelming and surreal that they had known the words to several of my songs, none of them had chanted my name the way they were right now.

  I put a hand over my mouth, squeezed my eyes shut and willed my stomach to stop practicing its backflips.

  Sebastian came to stand next to me and gave my shoulder a squeeze. “You okay, dude?”

  “Uh,” my jaw hung open, slack and my mouth salivated. “God, I think I might puke.”

  He smiled around his grimace. “You get stage-fright?”

  It was humiliating and I hesitated before nodding, figuring that I’d be more embarrassed if I threw up all over him without any explanation.

  “Hey, it’s cool. I used to get it pretty bad,” he said as he dug into his pocket. He pulled out a pack of gum and gave me a piece. “Here, chew this. The mint will help, and the chewing will keep you focused on something else.”

  “Thanks,” I said, smiling weakly, and popped the gum into my mouth. “Where’s Ty and Robbie? He was right here,” I said, glancing back to the crowd and I spotted Kylie. She had her phone in her hands, moving her fingers over the screen in rapid procession, and I laughed when my phone vibrated in my back pocket

  Kylie: Are you okay?

  Me: Might throw up everywhere. I’ll try to aim for the blonde next to you.

  Sebastian scratched the back of his head, and I looked up from my phone, not intending to be a rude asshole.

  “Ty had a call with his wife and Robbie’s probably topping his high off somewhere.”

  “Mm,” I grunted with a nod, just as my phone went off again.

  Kylie: Deep breaths, babe. You’ll be fine.

  Devin: Sebastian gave me a piece of gum. It’s helping a little.

  Kylie: I like him.

  “Are you texting Kylie?” he asked.

  I laughed and nodded. “Yeah, she says she likes you.”

  Chuckling, he shook his head and spun one of his drumsticks in the air. “Chicks always dig the drummer,” he said casually and lifted his brows. “But seriously man, she’s cool. Robbie’s got it out for her, though.”

  “I noticed,” I grumbled, as I texted:

  Devin: Yeah, I do too.

  “I mean, honestly, when I found out I’d be playing with Robbie fuckin’ White, I was stoked. But God, that guy is a douchebag, right? I knew he was a pain in the ass, but I never expected this shit. I keep my distance from him, and you should too.”

  My jaw shifted, because fuck, I wanted to agree. I knew I should’ve agreed. My conscience was shoving me in the direction that everybody else had seemed to lean towards. It told me I needed to keep Robbie fuckin’ White at arm’s length, at best, but then again, he was Robbie fuckin’ White! He wasn’t legendary, but he was notable, and he easily had twenty years of experience on top of my measly three months.

  I could learn something from him, I thought, and that didn’t require the acceptance of Kylie or my other band members.

  ♪

  I was feeling absolutely maniacal. Grinning from ear-to-ear and laughing with my whole damn body like I’d just heard the best joke in the world.

  Goddammit. The roar of that crowd, the energy emanating from them and floating toward me on the stage, lifted me up and made me feel fucking invincible in a way I never thought was possible. Their applause and screams between songs were enough to make me believe that every note I played, every line I sang, was perfect.

  And so, with every song, I tried to play better. I tried to sing better. And they screamed louder. They clapped louder.

  By the end of the show, I was giving them every little bit of myself. Every breath, every drop of sweat. Every little iota of energy I had seeping through my pores was dispensed into every lyric and every chord. Squeezing my eyes shut, singing like my very life depended on it.

  But when the last song ended and my eyes opened, I focused on that crowd, and I no longer saw that swaying mass of hands and hair.

  I saw purple.

  I saw Kylie.

  My biggest fan. My reason for everything, and swinging my guitar to my back, I took my last bit of energy and ran to the side of the stage. I reached into my guitar case and pulled out the daisy I had sent Richard to a florist for and ran back out to the edge of the stage and knelt.

  Two security guards flanked her, arms outstretched to hold back the pressing force of those crazed women, and I smiled as I handed the flower to her.

  “I love you!” she shouted, although I barely heard her over the thunder of fans.

  Holy shit. I have fans.

  “I love you too!” I shouted back, and as they pressed further against her, I made an effort at foolish heroism. I grabbed her hands, hoisting her onto the stage. One of the security guards glared at me, shaking his head and I grimaced an apology, mouthing a “sorry.” His expression lightened as he waved a hand to send me on my way.

  Kylie giggled on my arm. “He probably thinks I’m some groupie you just pulled out of the crowd.”

  “Would he be wrong?” I laughed, my smile so wide it ached.

  I stopped moving when we reached the narrow hallway leading to the dressing room and picked her up, spinning her around like some romantic movie love interest. Her arms held tight t
o my neck, our lips locked in a fairytale kiss, and I only pulled away when I felt the wet tears on my face.

  She was crying and I was shocked to find that, so was I.

  Her palms pressed to my cheeks. “Oh my God, Devin,” she exhaled, her fingers pressing into my skin. “That was fucking incredible. I … oh God …” Her lips thrust against mine.

  That kiss said everything that words couldn’t; her pride, her joy, her love. I felt it all, and I gave it back. Letting it flow through me as I held her tight.

  A cleared throat behind me ruined the moment, and I reluctantly pulled my lips from hers, turning my head to see Richard. He stood there, embarrassed for interrupting our private moment, but the smile he wore said everything.

  I was good. I was really good.

  “Richard,” I said, nodding my greeting as I lowered Kylie to her feet.

  “Devin.” He extended a hand and I accepted, expecting nothing more than a congratulatory handshake. But he pulled me toward him, wrapping his other arm around my shoulders. “Congratulations, kid. That was out of this world.”

  I returned the hug, clapping my hand against his back. “Thanks, man.”

  He pulled away, composing himself with the straightening of his tie and eyed me with sincerity. “I’m not just saying that,” he pressed. “There were a couple of music critics in the crowd and I spoke with them during the show. I’m giving you a heads-up right now: Every show is about to get bigger than the last. The critics think you have something special, the women want you, the men want to be you,” and he chuckled. “Devin, you’re about to explode.”

  It was hilarious hearing him talk that way, like he was reciting lines from a movie, but somewhere around the part about women wanting me, my mouth fell open. Because this wasn’t a movie. It was my fucking life, and it was happening.

  “You’re serious,” I said, looking for clarification, and he nodded as he said, “I wouldn’t lie to you about that.”